Memories?
by blueeyes5
Summary: Steve’s got amnesia and the bad guys have full reign on what he believes to be true! This is NOT a good thing! Please R/R! My first fic!
1. He's hurt!

A crash cart burst through the ER doors. Jesse hurried over to it, automatically asking what was wrong before he glanced at the patient.  
  
"Car crash. Injuries to the chest and head…" The intern went on with his description and Jesse nodded.  
  
"Okay. Take him to Trauma 1-" He broke off as he finally caught sight of the patient's face. Oh my- He shook his head and continued with his orders. "Oh, and I need someone to call Dr. Sloan. Tell him to meet me in the ER, STAT." Then, as they moved the injured man onto a table, he leaned over and whispered: "Hold on, buddy."  
  
In his office, Mark was looking dejectedly at the pile of paperwork on his desk. Taking an overdramatic deep breath, he picked up his pen- and heard a knock on his door. Raising his eyes skyward, he muttered a thanks and called out for them to come in. One of his students opened the door and came in.  
  
"What do you need, Stephanie?"  
  
"Doctor Travis wants you to come down to the ER. He didn't give a reason, Dr. Sloan." Mark stood and walked around his desk.  
  
"All right, I'm coming right now." Following Stephanie, he closed the door on his way out.  
  
When Mark walked into the ER Jesse had just finished patching up the patient.  
  
"What's the matter, Jesse?" The look on Jesse's face left no doubt that there was something wrong.  
  
"I think you'd better have a look, Mark. We fixed him up and he's stable but it's not good. Mark, it's Steve." Jesse's voice was gentle and full of concern. Mark's face went slack and he stepped silently to the head of the table. His face creased with worry as he saw his son lying there.  
  
"I've got to take him to recovery now, Mark. I'll leave the door open for you." Mark nodded slowly.  
  
"Tell me what happened."  
  
"He was in a car crash. He came in with lacerations on his chest, a bruised rib, and multiple injuries to the head. In other words," Jesse translated, realizing Mark was in no condition to try to work it out himself, "he's in back shape. That's all I know. We patched him up and were just finishing as you came in."  
  
"I'm going to the doctor's lounge for some coffee." Mark turned. Jesse put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I'll meet you there soon. It's gonna be a long night, but he'll be fine." As Mark left he whispered, "Please, don't make me a liar."  
  
Jesse walked into the doctor's lounge twenty minutes later. Mark looked up from his seat on the couch and attempted a smile.  
  
I'm so glad I have good news, thought Jesse as he saw the hope shining in Mark's eyes.  
  
"How is he? Can I see him?"  
  
"He was doing much better when I left. I'll go up with you if you'll wait for me to get some coffee." Mark nodded and held up his cup.  
  
"I need to finish my cup as well. I'll wait."  
  
"Thanks," said Jesse as he poured himself a cup. He sat next to Mark on the couch.  
  
Trying hard to relax, Mark realized he was gulping his coffee in his hurry to get to Steve. He deliberately set his cup on his knee and looked at Jesse. He smiled inwardly as he saw Jesse was throwing down his scalding coffee.  
  
"Take it easy, Jess. You won't be able to speak if you burn off your tongue." Jesse smiled, then looked startled. "What is it?" Jesse shook his head.  
  
"Nothing. I'm just anxious to see Steve." All this happening and he still acts like a father to me. Fed up with waiting he stood and placed his cup in the sink. Mark followed suit and they walked quickly to the elevator. "He's in room 385," he said, suddenly realizing that was Steve's badge number. "I left the door open in case you didn't want to wait for me."  
  
The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. A few minutes later, they rounded the corner of the hallway and stepped up to the room door. Jesse gently pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped aside for Mark to precede him. A second later, Mark's horrified voice tore through the air.  
  
"Jesse! Steve, he's gone!" 


	2. Where is he?

"What?" Jesse dashed into the room. Sure enough, the covers on Steve's bed were thrown back and Steve was nowhere to be seen. A quick survey of the room showed that the wheelchair that was standard in every room was missing. Jesse threw open the small wardrobe only to find it empty. "Mark, I hate to say it, but Steve was in no condition to leave, even in a wheelchair." He gestured to the now-empty corner of the room. Mark sat down heavily on the bed and stared straight ahead.  
  
"Where could he have gone?" He asked no one in particular.  
  
"I don't know. I'm going to call Amanda and see if she saw anyone leaving that even looked like Steve. Why don't I call Chief Masters and see if he can do something?" Mark nodded absently. In a quieter voice, Jesse promised: "We'll find him, Mark."  
  
When Steve woke up, he left his eyes closed. Slowly, he brought his hand to his head. He moaned softly and opened his eyes.  
  
"Oh, you're awake finally, huh?" A cheerful-looking man with light brown hair and dark green eyes was sitting in the chair to Steve's right.  
  
"Where am I?" It seemed like the appropriate thing to say, though it sounded a bit cliché.  
  
"You're at my house. Your car hit another and I managed to help you out of the wreckage. I don't think the other driver made it. Don't you remember?" The man's formally cheerful eyes shown now with concern and- what was it? Worry? Steve tried to sit up but the pain in his chest shoved him back down. "Whoa, take it easy! You're in pretty bad shape there, partner." Steve contented himself with resting his weight on his elbow as he faced the man.  
  
"Partner," he queried, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Blame my parents. We're from Texas. So if I can't call you partner, how about telling me your name? Mine's Carl." Steve opened his mouth to reply and then closed it in confusion. His brow wrinkled in concentration.  
  
My name, he thought as panic began to grip him, what's my name?  
  
"My…name…" Was all he managed. He dropped back onto his back on the bed and stared at the ceiling as if it would tell him.  
  
"What's the matter? Don't you know your name?" Steve detected a laugh in the man's tone and it irritated him.  
  
"Actually…no," he admitted sullenly. "I don't remember." He searched his memory and found blankness. "I don't remember anything!"  
  
"Anything?" Mark's question came as soon as Jesse walked into his office. Jesse shook his head and Mark's heart fell.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mark. We're still looking. It's as if he just vanished!" Jesse slammed down into a chair. He looked up. "I'm sorry, it's just so frustrating. I only left him for a minute! I should've locked the door…"  
  
"Jesse, don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. Something happened, yes, but there's no way you could have known, could have prevented it." For a moment, Mark sounded as if this was just another case. As if he was looking from an abstract point of view and was being the father figure Jesse knew.  
  
"Thanks, Mark." He stood. "I've got to go talk to Amanda. I told her I'd let her know if anything turned up, or even if it didn't. Bye."  
  
"Bye, Jess." Mark looked down at the papers on his desk and knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate. But I need something to occupy my mind, he thought resolutely as he picked up his pen.  
  
Carl finally gave in to Steve's pestering and let him get out of bed.  
  
"Just don't go for too long without sitting down or you'll wear yourself out, pal."  
  
No need to worry about that, thought Steve as he sank gratefully onto the couch. Out loud he said, "About that 'pal' stuff: if I don't remember my name, I should at least get a name until I do."  
  
"All right. How about Josh?" At Steve's disgusted look he tried again. "Okay, maybe not. What about…Joseph?" Another look. "Well, what about…Peter?" Steve smiled slightly.  
  
"Peter." He tried it out, admitted it sounded all right. "That'll do. Yeah."  
  
"Well…Peter, I have to go out for a minute. Do you think you'll be all right?"  
  
"I'll be fine." Steve/Peter nodded. Steve waited until he heard Carl's car pull out and drive away before he stood carefully. Wincing slightly as his ribs complained, he moved towards the room Carl always disappeared into. It turned out to be an office.  
  
Something tells me this isn't right. The instincts confused him. Carl had saved his life, hadn't he? Without thinking, Steve had begun to search though the papers on the desk. He looked down at the papers as if he'd just realized what he was doing- and took a step back. A picture of a man with brown hair and blue eyes smiled up at him. This was the man that had stared at him from the bathroom mirror this morning. This was him! Why would Carl have a picture of me? He moved the picture over, only to find another beneath it. An older man with white hair and sparkling blue eyes triggered a memory hiding somewhere in his brain. Desperately, he grasped at it.  
  
"Who is he?" The memory slipped away as he whispered the words to the office air.  
  
"The man who took your family from you." Steve jumped at the sound of Carl's voice. He looked down at the picture, then back up at Carl.  
  
"Do I know him?"  
  
"Yes. He was your father's friend before he turned on you." Carl's voice was hard, as if he was trying to hold back years of resentment. Astonished, Steve asked:  
  
"Did you know him?"  
  
I heard about him on the news. I was waiting for the right time to tell you. I recognized you when I pulled you away from your car." Carl stepped to the desk and picked up the photos. "Let's look at these in the living room where there's more light."  
  
Steve sat heavily on the couch.  
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"His name is Mark Sloan," Carl replied. "He and his friends," here he held up two more pictures, "killed your father and your wife." As Steve looked down at the faces smiling up at him, he swore he would return the favor. 


	3. Shadow

Jesse walked into Amanda's path lab, startling her from her most recent autopsy.  
  
"Did you find anything?" She quickly covered the man on the table with a sheet. Jesse shook his head.  
  
"I'm afraid not. I just got done talking with Mark." Amanda sat behind her desk and motioned towards a chair.  
  
"Have a seat, Jess. How's he doing?"  
  
"As well as can be expected, I suppose. Steve's been hurt before but this is the worst. It's got to be awful for him: not knowing where or how Steve is."  
  
"What have you been doing to find him," Amanda asked eagerly. "Is there anything I could help with?" Jesse shook his head again.  
  
"To tell the truth, I don't really know where to look. We've checked the nearest hospitals and clinics but it's hard to know where to look."  
  
That night, Steve insisted that he go out.  
  
"Peter, you've still got a cut on your forehead and your rib isn't fully healed yet," Carl objected.  
  
"Carl. I have to go out. I need fresh air, a change of surroundings…" I need to find the people who took my family from me.  
  
Ten minutes later, having convinced Carl he'd be all right and would stay in the car, Steve was on his way. Mentally, he ran through all the clues to where this Mark Sloan was. He's a doctor, his nametag had very small letters but I think it said Community General. The name rings a bell but I don't know why, so that must be it. He pulled a map from the glove box and found the hospital. Pulling into the parking lot a little later, he saw Sloan get in his car. Without hesitation, he followed him. A memory pushed forward and he grasped at it. He was driving a dark blue car and following this same man. He felt…excited? He was looking forward to something? The memory slipped quietly away.  
  
About the same time, he noticed he'd followed the doctor to a few houses on the beach. The doctor pulled into a driveway and Steve parked a half-block away. Mentally throwing his promise to remain in the car out the window, he opened his door and got out. He crept slowly around the house.  
  
In his house, Mark grabbed a drink and went out onto the balcony to think. A movement in the shadows caught his eye. He picked up his binoculars. A tall, long-legged figure was looking up at him. The figure quickly turned and fled. Dropping the binoculars onto the table, Mark ran to the front door.  
  
"Wait," he cried as he stepped outside. The figure had just reached the bottom of the driveway. He whispered the name into the dark: "Steve?" 


	4. Coffee anyone?

Mark walked into the doctor's lounge feeling a little better. A good night's sleep had done him good. He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down on the couch. Jesse walked in.  
  
"Hey, Mark. How are you?" Jesse looked concerned.  
  
"Hey, Jess. I'm feeling better after some sleep." He paused, uncertainly, as if deciding something. Finally, he looked back up at Jesse who was now seated next to him with a cup of his own. "Last night…" He trailed off.  
  
"What, Mark? What happened?" Jesse turned to his friend.  
  
"I was sitting on my balcony and I saw someone moving outside in the shadows… It looked so much like Steve. But when I went down, he had already driven away."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry Mark. It couldn't have been Steve, though." Mark looked up with a question in his eyes.  
  
"Why not, Jess? Why couldn't it have been Steve?"  
  
"Because Steve wouldn't have left. He would have come back."  
  
"If he had a choice."  
  
"Then when can I?" Steve had been trying to convince Carl to let him "repay" Sloan and his friends for half an hour. Carl's resolve was weakening. He gave an "I give in" sigh and nodded.  
  
"Tomorrow night. May I suggest you go after Dr. Travis and Dr. Bentley first? What worse grief is there than watching your friends die and knowing you're next? It's what he did to you," he said, seeing the brief flash of horror in Steve's eyes. A moment later there was only steel blue determination. Steve nodded once.  
  
"Tomorrow night," he confirmed.  
  
Carl directed Steve to Doctor Bentley's house the next night. Steve got out of the car. As he turned to close his door, he was surprised to see Carl getting out. He doesn't trust me. He doubts I'll do it, thought Steve. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. What a way to win someone's trust.  
  
He walked up the drive and knocked on the door as planned.  
  
"Just a moment." He heard her voice and a few muffled thuds followed by a stifled "Ow!" Finally the door opened. Bentley gasped in surprise. "Steve?" The name was the barest of whispers. Carl had told him about this, too. He'd preferred Peter.  
  
May I come in, Amanda?" He slipped easily into the scene he had rehearsed with Carl. Soundlessly, she nodded and stepped aside. "What's the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost."  
  
Peter watched form his seat on the couch as Amanda paced in front of him.  
  
"Why didn't you come home? Where were you? Didn't you realize how this would affect us? What about Mark?" She would have continued but Peter interrupted swiftly.  
  
"Amanda," the one word, most likely his voice alone, quieted her. "I lost my memory. I didn't know who or where I was. I just found out and I was closer to your house. I thought you'd be glad." Puppy dog looks. They always work! Amanda sat next to him.  
  
"Of course I am, Steve! I just think you should see Mark as soon as possible. He is your dad." Peter stiffened. Carl had told him these people were delusional. That they'd make up a whole life for him…  
  
"Amanda, could you make me some coffee?" He relaxed before she noticed any change in his demeanor.  
  
"Of course." She went into the kitchen. Peter stood and followed her, slowly drawing the cord from his pocket. He walked silently up behind her. He brought the cord around her neck as fast as he could and she gasped, clutching at it. "Steve?" Her fingers found the cord and she struggled to pull it off her throat. As she began to relax, Peter leaned close to her ear and whispered two words.  
  
Steve hopped into the passenger's seat and Carl drove away.  
  
"What did you whisper to her?" Carl's question came as they pulled into his driveway. Steve smiled.  
  
"That's between me and her." 


	5. Betrayal and pain

The next night Carl directed Steve to Doctor Travis' house. Tonight would be a near duplicate of last night. Steve would pretend to have his memory back. He would express grief over Bentley's death. He would apologize for not coming sooner. He would ask for a cup of coffee… The only difference: the murder weapon. No doubt Travis would have a coffee of his own already made. Steve fingered the vial in his pocket as he stood at Travis' door, waiting. It opened.  
  
Travis' reaction was much the same as Bentley's had been. He let him in silently, asked why Steve hadn't gone to Sloan first, he even offered to do what Bentley had not: call him.  
  
"No." Peter shook his head. "I think it would be better to tell him myself, in person."  
  
"You heard about Amanda, I guess?" Travis' tone was mute with sorrow. Peter nodded slowly.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Jess. It's hard to believe. I finally regain my memory only to find out I just lost a friend. It doesn't seem real." He glanced sidelong at Travis' coffee cup. The doctor's gaze followed his.  
  
"I'm sorry, Steve. Do you want a cup?" Peter nodded appreciatively.  
  
"That'd be great, Jess." When Travis had left the room, Peter slipped the vial from his picket. He dumped its contents into the coffee. Tasteless and odorless, it would do perfectly. There was enough there to kill a man in under a minute. He slipped a sliver of paper onto the saucer. It had two words written on it, under a small sketch. He put the vial back into his pocket as Travis re-entered the room. He stood and accepted the coffee gratefully.  
  
Travis took a large swallow of his coffee and then caught sight of the paper as he took the cup from his lips. Reading quickly, he looked up at Peter, horror etched on his features. Peter nodded as a cruel smile distorted his face. Seconds later, Travis fell to the floor, whispering one last word, more like a plea. "Steve?"  
  
"Why did you warn him?" Carl questioned Steve again as he pulled away from Travis' house. "What if the cops find the paper?"  
  
"Relax, Carl," Steve said. "Nothing went wrong, and the paper is right here." He held it up triumphantly. Carl grabbed at it but Steve jerked it away. He pushed in the button for the cigarette lighter in the car. "I can see just how much you don't trust me, even now. Why should I trust you?" He pulled out the lighter and held the paper to it, watching as it slowly burnt to ashes that crumbled away.  
  
Three nights later, because it would be too easy for the cops to have three deaths in a row, Carl and Steve drove to Sloan's house. This was the final chapter of Steve's revenge. He pulled the gun from his coat picket as he walked up the drive. Carl had given it to him that morning, explaining he'd found it near Steve in the wreck. Steve fingered the cool metal and thought of how this was almost over. He was ready for it to be over. But first… He replaced the gun in his pocket.  
  
He rang the doorbell. He heard the soft thump of someone padding down a staircase, and then the door opened. There he was. The man who killed my family. Knowing Carl was watching, he fought to keep his expression steady. He met Sloan's eyes and heard the sharp intake of breath.  
  
"Steve?" The man's voice was a whisper. Slipping once again into his roll, he replied:  
  
"Dad."  
  
"Son, where were you? Why didn't you come home?"  
  
"I couldn't." The pain in Sloan's eyes seemed so real, so natural for a delusion. "I lost my memory. I didn't know where home was!" He allowed Sloan to wrap him in a hug. He reached into his pocket as Sloan pulled away. "I brought you something." He pulled out his gun.  
  
"Your gun?" Sloan's eyes narrowed with confusion, then widened as Peter brought the gun around to point at him. "Steve- What are you dong?" Peter watched as panic constricted Sloan's throat, cutting his words into short, sharp, accented barks. "Son…" This last was a plea, drawn out and filled with notes of betrayal and pain. Peter sneered. He pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, recalling Sloan's delusion of when he'd been shot just like that. Twice in the chest, once in the stomach.  
  
"Son," Mark whispered as he fell to the floor. 


	6. Carl's gone! ^_^

Carl walked into the house and laughed outright at what he saw. He'd gotten Steve to shoot his beloved father! Rid of Sloan once and for all! And his son thinks he's Peter, he rejoiced. Steve turned slowly to face Carl, staring at the gun in his hand.  
  
"It's finished, Peter! You can go home in peace." Steve shook his head.  
  
"No," he whispered hoarsely. "I can't. Because I've remembered who I am." To Carl's horror he aimed the gun at him. "And I am home." Steve's expression never changed as he fired the two shots. Carl fell to the floor in shock…but nothing more. He looked up at Steve in amazement.  
  
"Y-you…" he stammered.  
  
"I knew." Carl stood up as two cops came into the room. Mark stood up and went over to Steve, smiling.  
  
"How?" Utterly baffled, Carl had to know.  
  
"Remember that drive I took? The one I promised to stay in the car during? Well, I followed Dad to his house and started to sneak around, but he saw me. When he called my name, something in me clicked into place. I began to remember things. I remembered just enough to know not to kill Amanda." Here Amanda walked into the room. "And the same happened with Jesse." Here Jesse entered the room. "I had to go on a hunch with Dad, but I decided to put in blanks. He knew enough to pretend I'd shot him." He smiled at Mark. All this was too much for Carl. He shook his head and stared. Steve smiled, enjoying every minute of it. He directed his attention to the two cops. "Cuff him, read him his rights, and get him out of here."  
  
"Wait!" Carl struggled to stay for a moment longer. Steve motioned for the officers to wait. "What did you say to Bentley and Travis?"  
  
"Play along." 


End file.
